


The Night Of

by Halo_Reznor



Category: Nine Inch Nails (Band)
Genre: Academy Awards, Cameo Appearances by Mariqueen Maandig and Claudia Sarne, Gen, Humor, Swearing, takes place in 2011
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-02
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-14 19:02:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29796447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Halo_Reznor/pseuds/Halo_Reznor
Summary: It's the night of the 83rd Annual Academy Awards... and Atticus doesn't want to go.Trent, however, isn't having any of it.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	The Night Of

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by poor Atticus' apparent awkwardness and shyness during award acceptance speeches (check out him and Trent accepting their Emmy for Watchmen - he doesn't say a single word, just waves at the camera at the end). I make jokes, but honestly I'd be just as shy if I was accepting a major award (and he *is* talking more during video interviews at least, which warms my cold, icy heart).
> 
> DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fiction. The events in this story never occurred, and the characters involved are not an accurate reflection of the individuals presented therein.

_Knock-knock._

Silence.

_Knock-knock._

More silence.

Trent groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Att, I fucking know you're in there."

From behind the door came a distant "...No I'm not."

"You're not funny," Said Trent, getting increasingly annoyed. "You're just an asshole. Now get out so we can leave."

The voice on the other side replied, closer this time, "Maybe I decided I didn't _want_ to go after all, maybe I’ll just stay home and watch the ceremony on TV."

"Come on, man, you went to the fucking Golden Globes, and people give so little of a shit about those everybody but us were getting shit-faced." Trent buried his face in his hands, when an idea popped in his head. A potentially _stupid_ idea, but an idea nonetheless. "Alright, you wanna play? Fine, I'll play. Let me in or I'll kick your fucking door in."

"You wouldn't."

"Oh, I will! And I’ve got years of experience in breaking shit like this." Trent, furrowing his brow, took a step and a half away from the door and raised his right leg into the air, ready to strike. "I’ll give you the count of three. One… two…"

The door opened at the last possible second, revealing Atticus standing awkwardly and stroking his right arm. "Please, _please_ don't do that."

"Relax, I wasn't really gonna do it," He lied, putting his leg back down. Oh, he really _would_ have done it if given the chance, he’d even go full-on Jack Nicholson in _The Shining_ if he had an axe… Trent took another look at Atticus, at his dark jeans and long-sleeved gray shirt, and raised an eyebrow. "Where's your suit?"

Sheepishly, Atticus answered, "It's, um, in my closet."

Trent clenched his jaw; forget the door, at this rate the only thing he was ready to kick was Atticus’ ass. "Are you fucking kidding me? Get fucking dressed!"

"Well, you see, about that…" His view turned to his feet. "I think… that there really only needs to be _one_ of us there in case we win. No need for _both_ of us to be there. _Or_ , Claudia's ready to go, she can accept it in my place."

In the span of about two seconds, Trent blinked, then stared at him blankly, before frowning deeply. "Get fucking dressed or I swear to God…”

"But I would really rather no-" The blade-sharp glare that Trent shot him was enough to make Atticus stop in his tracks. "Okay, fine, I'll go."

Minutes later in the living room, whatever conversation Mariqueen and Claudia were having was interrupted by the muttered bickering of their respective husbands from upstairs, followed by a fuming Trent dragging Atticus down the steps forcibly by the sleeve of his suit jacket. Both women looked at them in confusion.

"What took you so long?" Mariqueen asked, oblivious to what had happened beforehand.

Trent didn't answer her, instead saying to Claudia, "You know you're married to a recluse with the maturity of a five-year-old, right? Anyway, let’s just go, we’re going to be late.” He turned to Atticus, still glaring, “Please tell me you have a speech ready.”

“Of course I do,” Atticus said, as if he had not written down his speech on a random piece of paper in a rush after putting on his suit.

Thinking that the other wasn’t looking, both men sighed; it was going to be a very, _very_ long night.


End file.
